Abigail's Baby
by The waxwing slain
Summary: In which Abigail learns that motherhood is a mixed blessing.
1. Chapter 1

Dr. Lecter was not what Abigail would have considered her type. Truth be told, she didn't have enough romantic experience to confidently claim to have a specific type, but she was sure that if she'd ever bothered to think about it a Lithuanian psychiatrist who was slightly older than her father would not have been the mental picture that she would have drawn. She wouldn't have imagined that she was his type ether. Dr. Lecter was worldly and sophisticated and mature in ways that she was sure she never would be. Nothing ever really seemed to phase him and nothing was beyond his understanding. She imagined that people like her must seem bland and unremarkable to him.

It was because of this that she initially interpreted his interest in her as being a side effect of the circumstances under which they'd met. He had saved her life so now he felt responsible for her, that was all. She had thought nothing of him repeatedly visiting her hospital room, first with Will Graham and then later on his own, or of him giving her his business card with his home number written in pen on the back, "if you ever need someone to talk to" he had said. He was a psychiatrist after all, so of course his natural inclination was to be concerned for her emotional well-being.

After helping her hide the body, his attentions seemed to grow slightly more intimate. There were constant little touches that seemed to go unnoticed by anyone else to such a degree that she wondered if she imagined them. He would touch the small of her back while leading her out of a room, tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear...there was that one time when she was at one of his dinners when he walked behind her chair and briefly petted the soft downy hair on the back of her exposed neck. She was ashamed to find herself replaying that incident in her mind later on when she was alone and couldn't sleep. When they would talk he would stand a little too close, look into her eyes a little too long.

Abigail shook it off, told herself to stop being "gross." He was just being nice, it was unfair of her to assume he had ulterior motives. She convinced herself that she was just imagining the hungry edge in his gaze and the lower, softer cadence that he seemed to only speak in when they were alone. Still, she finds herself nervous around him in a way that she hadn't been before. She starts wearing makeup again and doesn't even bother to justify the decision to herself.

Their conversations change subtly, everything about him is subtle, from inquiries about her mental health and her plans for the future to more...tender subjects. He asks her in a furtive, almost concerned tone as they sit in the hospitals garden one afternoon when her first sexual experience was. He says it so gently, so clinically, that she doesn't balk at it the way she would had nearly anyone else asked. She blushes and proceeds to tell him about the time in fifth grade when an older boy (she doesn't even remember his name now) lured her under the bleachers during recess and did something with his hand between her legs that made her feel very good at the time but sick and sullied afterwards. He asks her, in his cool, measured voice, how she feels looking back on the encounter. She says she feels nothing.

He asks her, his expression passive, if she ever "gratifies" herself. She giggles and ask if he means "does she mastrubate", he makes a little noise in his throat that might have been the beginning of a laugh, nearly smiles and says "yes."She tries to verbalise a reply but winds up just shaking her head. He quirks an eyebrow.

"No?"

"Uh-uh."

He says nothing but the slight tilt of his head makes her feel like she should say something.

"I did, but then I... stopped."

" Was there a reason or did you simply lose the inclination?" It should sound dirty, this whole conversation should feel wrong, but it doesn't and so she keeps going. She figures that, since she's already in the water, she may as well swim.

"I did...when I was really young...I don't even remember how young, but then..." She makes a choking noise (it's not a sob) takes a deep breath and then continues. "Then my dad walked in on me. I had my hand under the covers so he couldn't really...see, but he'd have to have been pretty naive not to know. I couldn't say anything, I started crying. He just turned and walked out of the room, then I heard him talking to my mom. He said, 'you need to go talk to your daughter.'"

"Did he often delegate to your mother in those sorts of situations?" It's a gentle prod, just enough to push her forward.

"Yeah," she laughs nervously, " me and my dad were always...(an image of a dead girl flashes in her mind) close, but not about that kind of thing."

"How did your mother handle the matter?"

"She pretended not to know what I was doing, she was always like that, you know..."

"Willfully ignorant?"

"Yeah, that's it, that's exactly it. So, I told her that it... itched down there." It suddenly hits her exactly what she's talking about and who she's talking to and her throat seizes up, she feels her ears get hot but then she swallows and presses on without looking at him.

"She got me a doctors appointment and when I went in he asked me a bunch of questions, worded things in that clumsy way adults do when they're talking to kids about things they think kids should know. I was really anxious that he was going to ask to look at me...down there but he didn't. In the end he prescribed me something for a yeast infection. After that I just couldn't do that anymore. I would start to, but I'd get so anxious that it wouldn't even feel good."

"Did you feel as though you had lost something?"

She nods, how is it that he always seems to know just what question to ask to keep her talking.

"I don't know," she can't look at him, tears of embarrassment start to sting at the backs of her eyes.

"It was just nice to have something that was just mine, to be able to do something for myself that made me feel that good without having to ask for permission." She chokes, she can't talk.

She jumps when Dr. Lecter touches her shoulder, it's a barely detectable touch but under the circumstances it feels very intimate.

"Did you resent them for taking that release from you?" he rubs a slow circle just over her collarbone with his thumb.

"Yeah." she does sob now, but just once. "Yeah, when I got older I sometimes wanted to ask them why they thought it was better to have me believe there was something wrong with me then to have just one awkward conversation. It felt like...like it didn't matter to them if I was happy, all that mattered was that they got to keep seeing me as an innocent little girl."

"They didn't care about your well-being, they only cared that you were filling the role they needed you to fill?"

She nods, feels long latent anger simmering in her chest.

"Do you feel that set a precedent for your...future interactions with your father?"

She nods, he reaches down a takes her right hand between his two hands, strokes her palm with his thumb, up and down, up and down.

After a few moments in silence he reaches up and places his index finger under her chin, tilting her head back until her eyes meet his. She suddenly feels naked, fully present in reality again.

"You know Abigail," his and returns to her's and resumes it's soothing motion, "you're a grown woman, it is entirely natural that you should have a grown woman's needs and you've certainly no cause to be ashamed, least of all of anything that you do in private."

She flushes and suddenly becomes hyper aware of how close to her he is.

"I find it odd," he went on "that you said permission."

"Huh?" She hadn't realized that she'd been lulled into a trance by his touch, his voice, and the upward inflection in his voice gave her a start.

"Do you feel that you need permission to...attend to yourself, Abigail?"

"I...uh, I guess" she was really blushing now, "I know that's stupid, I know it's not wrong...I just need someone to tell me it's not wrong." A few tears slide down her face but she doesn't look away from him.

He looks gentle when he smiles. He reaches up to wipe her tears away and then moves his hand to the back of her neck where his thumb resumes it's soothing motion, up and down, up and down.

"For what it is worth" his tone is conspiratorial "you have my permission."

He leans in then and kisses her on the cheek. There's a long silence after that wherein he looks at her and she looks at his hand holding her's and she is sorely tempted to reach up and put her arms around his neck, to crush their mouths together and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, but she doesn't. Instead she reminds herself of how much older and how much smarter and how much more experienced he is than her and she looks up at him and laughs an embarrassed, girlish laugh as if to remind him just how not worth his time she is.

He smiles again and then brings her hand to his mouth and kisses it and then looks briefly back into her eyes and for a second she swears she sees that hunger again.

"I think you'd better go back inside Abigail."

She nods and laughs breathily again.

"I...I'm sorry about..."

"Not at all," he stands smoothly and offers her his hand, she takes it and stands. Ss he leads her back to the hospital his hand finds hers again.

"Abigail, do you feel safe with me?" He doesn't turn to look at her, just squeezes a little harder at the end of the question.

"Yes." She says it without hesitation and feels an alien lightness in her chest.

That night, alone in her bed, Abigail takes full advantage of the doctors permission while she remembers the dry warmth of his hand on hers and imagines how his touch would feel on other parts of her body.

Things only change a little after that, but the ways in which they change are important, she thinks. She thinks he seems more relaxed around her and (she thinks) he smiles more. There's a little niggling voice in the back of her head that tells her that she must be imagining it but for once she forces herself not to listen. She doesn't have much in her arsenal when it comes to flirting. With the few boys her own age that she's pursued it had helped to be as overt as possible but she had a feeling that Hannibal wouldn't appreciate that. She tries though, during conversations when he leans in, she leans in, she smiles almost too much, she's always sure to make eye contact and acknowledge him by name when they they see each other.

This goes on for a long time and he doesn't seem anywhere near "taking the bait" so to speak. Just as she's about to give up and start trying to forget the whole thing the "breakthrough" happens. They're in the kitchen and she's drying dishes, being very careful not to drop any of the expensive wine glasses. Then they have that fateful conversation and she winds up confessing everything. When she cries she doesn't know if it's from guilt or fear or pure relief at having finally confided in someone.

She doesn't have long to dwell on it because soon he's holding her and his arms are surprisingly strong and he smells so good, sweet and clean yet masculine. She's surprised at her own boldness when she reaches up and grabs his lapels, pulls him down until their mouths are touching and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him. As he pulls her closer, squeezing almost too hard, and growls his satisfaction into her mouth she starts to think that maybe she is his type after all.


	2. In which Abigail makes her move

They take things slowly, they have to. There's a constant media circus around Abigail and the last thing she wants is for it to negatively affect Hannibal (it takes her an embarrassingly long time to stop calling him Dr. Lecter.) He says that he only keeps their relationship a secret so that there won't be any "indecent speculation" on the part of the press, he cares about her reputation (which makes her laugh.) She doesn't kid herself that his concerns are entirely chivalrous, he has a private practice and she imagines the success of that sort of thing has to rely pretty heavily on his good reputation, but she believes that they at least partly are and she's surprised at how much that turns her on. He refers to their long, furtive conversations in her room and the late night dinners at his house that she has to sneak out of the hospital to go to as a "courtship" and that turns her on too.

She thinks that "boyfriend" sounds like to juvenile a term to describe him. She doesn't even feel that she should describe whatever it is that's going on between them, like putting it into words would cheapen it somehow. For all his level headed confidence there's something tentative, almost shy, about the way he pursues her. He has the strangest way of making his interest clear while simultaneously assuring her that she could back out of their...whatever it is whenever she likes, all without directly telling her either of those things. The strangest part of it is that he seems in no hurry to make things physical.

It's not as though he's withholding of affection. He's more than willing to touch her and to allow her to touch him, an opportunity of which she only takes advantage after she gets over her fear of damaging impeccably tailored suit, but he seems satisfied with kisses and caresses and (mostly) clothed embraces and this caused Abigail no end of confusion. Of course she didn't expect him to be as demanding and impatient as the boys she went out with in high school, but she does want things to progress sooner or later (preferably sooner) and she's getting a little tired of waiting for him to initiate. She starts to get frustrated again, until it dawns on her that maybe he's been waiting for her. She feels stupid for not considering that possibility sooner and resolves that the next time she gets the chance she'll test her theory.

The opportunity comes on one of their "dates" at his place. They're in the living room and she's looking out the window while he sets up the record player. As the music starts he walks up behind her, puts an arm around her waist and places a quick kiss to the scar on her neck. Before he can withdraw Abigail reaches back and places her hand to the back of his neck, gently urging him back down. She feels him smile against her skin before he resumes. He starts with her scar (he always seems to start with her scar) and works his way up with his lips and his tongue and a brief brush of his teeth to just behind her ear where he pauses to savor her scent.

Steeling herself, she turns around a wraps her arms around his neck. She strains upward slightly to place a soft kiss on his lips but pulls back just as he starts to reciprocate.

"Hannibal?" She doesn't mean for it to come out as a whisper.

"Yes?" He places a kiss to her forehead and then returns to her neck.

"Are we..." it hits her then that she still hasn't settled on what to call it so she latches on to the first term that springs to mind, "an item?"

It sounds ridiculous, but there's no taking it back now. Hannibal pulls back a regards her thoughtfully for a moment. He reaches up and strokes her hair.

"Would you like for us to be?" His fingers are moving in a circular motion on the back of her neck now and it makes it hard for her to think.

"Yea...yes." She giggles, "God yes."

His eyes light up then and he smiles unguardedly for the first time since she's known him. He pulls her close and kisses her with a hunger that borders on animalistic. They move to a nearby couch and she straddles his lap, trying not to show how unnatural it feels to be above him. Keeping her mouth on his she struggles with his tie until he obligingly removes it for her. She undoes the top few button on his shirt and runs her hands over his chest and then up through his hair before moving to the buttons of her own cardigan.

Picking up her her cue he kisses his way down her throat to her collarbone, from her collarbone to the tops of her breasts. Thing are going just fine until she goes to unbutton her jeans, then her hands. He closes his eyes, takes a few slow, deep breaths and then looks over at the clock.

"It's getting late my darling." It's the first time he's ever called her anything other than her own name and it all too obvious that he's doing it just to soften the blow. "I think you'd best be getting back."

Abigails stomach sinks, looking directly into his eyes, she tries to salvage the situation.

"Or I could stay the night?" She hopes that he catches her actual meaning and doesn't assume she's just asking to sleep over.

"I don't think that would be wise, Abigail." He starts fastening the buttons on her shirt but she grabs his hand.

"Come on." Abigail struggles to keep the irritation out of her voice, forces herself to sound playful.

"You can say that I ran away and came here and you decided to wait until morning to bring me back, it's not like they can actually punish me or anything. The worst I'll get is talking to from Dr. Bloom."

"That's...not what I'm concerned about." There's mild strain beneath his veneer of composure. He puts his hands on her waist and gently maneuvers her to the couch beside him, buttons up her shirt, runs a hand through her hair and then stands and walks to a nearby mirror to begin re-tying his tie.

"What is it them?" She asks so softly that when he doesn't react to the question she's not sure if he's ignoring it or just didn't hear her.

"Of course I insist on driving you." He walks over, offers her his hand and sighs when she makes no move to take it. "I promise you we will discuss this...soon."

"No," she says it through clenched teeth mostly to keep herself from sobbing. "I want to talk about it now."

When she looks into his eyes there's a degree of helplessness there that until now she wouldn't have even imagined he was capable of feeling. He takes another deep, slow breath and sits back down beside her but doesn't look at her, favoring the floor near her feet.

"You are..." he stops and swallows and she realizes that this is the first time she's ever heard him struggle to find the right words, it's almost enough to make her laugh, "very young Abigail."

"Oh, god, don't..." she starts but then he shoots her a sidelong glance, silently demanding that she let him finish.

"I'm sure that you can understand how some might interpret you as being in a vulnerable position." There's an awkward pause then, almost as though he's embarrassed.

"That it?" Now she makes no attempt to conceal her exasperation. "You're worried that you're...taking advantage of me?"

"It's not that simple Abigail." When he doesn't elaborate she stand up and walks toward the door, he follows and blocks her exit. "Let me take you back."

She almost object but then decides it's not worth it, all she can muster is a hissed out "fine!"

On the drive to the hospital they are both stone silent. Tears make their way down Abigail's face but Hannibal doesn't notice or at least pretends not to. He parks half a block from the hospital (so no one will see him dropping her off), but as she's about to get out her reaches over and grabs her wrist. She doesn't struggle, just sits and waits for him to speak. When he begins he sounds a mix of sad and tired.

"Since...this began, I've been terrified that I might do something to hurt you." He stops, deliberately leaving her room to reply. She tries not to sound as frustrated as she is.

"I'm just so sick of everyone thinking they need to protect me." She swallows. "Ya' know, if I were half as fragile as everyone acts like I am I wouldn't be alive right now, right?"

"I do, I think I understand that better than anyone." There's a slight quaver in his voice but he swallows, takes a deep breath and continues in a steadier tone. "I admit that I do want to protect you but not, you understand, because I think you need me to. I want to protect you because I think it's about time someone protected you. I think you've suffered enough. It seems that your whole life everyone who should have taken care of you has failed you and I don't want to be another on that list."

"You've done a lot for already..." She slowly pulls her wrist from his grip and takes his hand, "you're already way out ahead of every other man in my life in terms of who I can rely on."

She half expected him to remind her that she can rely on Will Graham too, but he doesn't, instead he looks out the window behind her for a moment and then firmly back at her face as though he's made up his mind about something.

"If you ever did anything that you'd regret on my account I could never forgive myself." She almost interrupts, but he presses on. "Because...I love you."

The way he says it, the way it seems to take all his self control not to look away from her as the words leave his lips, implies that he hasn't said that particular phrase out loud to anyone in a long time. At that realization Abigail feels a little pain, like a splinter, in her chest.

"You..." She bites her lip. "You love me?"

"I've adored you since the moment I saw you." Despite the strangeness of the confession he seems to have gained in confidence. "I've gone over all the things that may be wrong with that in my head, analyzed it to death really, but that still doesn't change it."

"I..." she wants to return the sentiment, if only just because she can tell it took him a lot of effort to say it and she doesn't want to hurt him, but it sticks in her throat. Picking up on her hesitation Hannibal lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses it.

"Go get some sleep Abigail."

"Only if you promise to visit me tomorrow...so we can talk about this."

"Of course." His voice has regained its usual calm, authoritative tone, but with a hint of relief as though his confession has lifted a considerable weight.

Abigail kisses him one more time and then gets out of the car.


	3. In which Abigail is left with one regret

Shortly after Hannibal drops her off, it starts to storm. Abigail is not at all afraid of thunderstorms, in fact they usually help her sleep, but tonight she finds herself laying awake watching the branches of the tree outside her window dance in the wind. She can't stop going over everything that's happened in her mind, remembering his wounded expression, the barely restrained emotion in his voice. Wondering how many people ever got to see him like that, she feels fleetingly privileged. Then she forces herself to focus on the issue at hand.

Is she in love with him? It feels much too soon, both in her life and after everything that's happened, to be asking herself if she'd found the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Still, for all that she feels overwhelmed, she also feels a giddy sense of relief. Until now she had been under the assumption that she was so broken no one would ever want to be close to her and had been struggling to get used to the idea of being alone for the rest of her life. It was comforting to know that she was still worth something to someone (even if it was potentially influenced by the fact that he had happened to be there to stop the bleeding when her father tried to slit her throat), not as someone who could offer insight into the mind of a cereal killer but just as herself, just as Abigail.

Hannibal was one of few people who had never asked her about her father, he had asked her how she felt about her father, but never blatantly mined her for information. Really at this point he did know her better than anyone, probably better than anyone ever would know her. She couldn't imagine any point down the line where she would feel comfortable admitting what she'd done...what he'd made her do to anyone else, especially not if she wanted that person to like her. Hannibal knew the worst of her and took it in his stride, even seemed to embrace it on some level. She couldn't imagine ever having that kind of intimacy with another person. Even if it wasn't love, it was as close to it as she would ever get, she was sure of that.

As outside her window the rain softened and birds began to sing in response to the changing light, Abigail felt a sense of peace settle over her. She drifted off to sleep, content in the knowledge that tomorrow she would be seeing Hannibal and she would tell him that she loved him.

It was a grey, drizzly morning, the sky still occasionally flashing and thunder rolling faintly in the distance. Abigail loved these sorts of days but rarely said so because of how much everyone else seemed to despise them. She deliberately tried not to think about Hannibal, he couldn't come until the evening and in the meantime she had a therapy session to get through. If she seemed to happy doctor Bloom would ask her why and she found it a little harder to lie to doctor Bloom then to anyone else. True, she hadn't told her therapist quite everything, but she had found that she was better at omitting information than she was at outright lying.

She puts a knee length skirt and a sweater, the outfit is pretty but not fancy enough to draw suspicion. She pulls her hair back because she remembers how much attention Hannibal pays to her neck (tries not to think about the potential subtext of that attention.) She puts on just enough makeup to hide how tired she is and then heads out into the common room for breakfast. She gets through the few hours until her session with doctor Bloom without incident but by now she's anxious, like if she's not careful at some point she'll open her mouth and her secret will come bubbling out like vomit. She feels guilty for having mentally compared a confession of love to vomit.

Maybe, she thinks, if she calls Hannibal and sounds really worried on the phone he'll come over sooner and she can get this all over with. That's not how she should feel about it is it? Like it's something to "get over with"? No, she should be happy...but she can't be because if she seems happy doctor Bloom will ask her why and then she might tell her and then Hannibal will get in trouble (won't he?) and it'll be all her fault and he'll leave her and she'll be alone again and...and...and...

By the time she sits down across from doctor Bloom she's an anxious mess which, it turns out, is a good thing because there's no reason for doctor Bloom to find that suspicious. doctor Bloom smiles her usual, mild, patient smile and opens with the usual question.

"How are you feeling today sweetie?"

Abigail swallows, smiles a strained little smile (which is also good because it's also not suspicious) and gives a response that's technically true.

"I didn't sleep much last night."

"Any particular reason," doctor Blooms eyebrows knit "or were you just restless?"

"I was thinking." She sticks with technical truths because they're the best she can do right now. "About my future, about what sort of life I'm gonna' be able to have if this all ever blows over."

"Oh, Abigail, honey," she somehow manages to smile and still look sad, "it will, I know it might not feel like it now but you can get past this and you can have a happy, normal life. I promise you that and I promise I'm going to help you."

Abigail think two things then: first, that only the second of those three things is true, second, that that's not what Hannibal would have said. Hannibal would have asked her what sort of life she wanted to have and why she thought this needed to "blow over" in order for that life to be possible...but probably not, probably something like that but better. She doesn't know how she would have answered so she responds to doctor Bloom instead.

"It's not going to blow over. I mean, I know that the press is eventually going to leave me alone. Eventually some bigger, scarier, more interesting monster then my dad is gonna' come along and I'll seem boring by comparison and they'll go away. So, for the rest of the world, it'll have blown over but not for me...and I'm not even sure I want it to."

"What do you mean?" Doctor Bloom tries to keep her expression neutral but the concern in her voice gives her away.

"I mean that I don't want to remember it, I really don't, but...but at the same time I don't want to have to forget because even though it was horrible and even though I hate him...I really, really do..." she doesn't sob, she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. "Even though I hate what he did to me and what he made me into, if I forget that I have to forget...everything. I'd have to forget everything that makes me me and even though I kind of hate me..."

Here doctor Bloom tries to interrupt but Abigail talks over her.

"Even though I hate being his...his thing, I don't know what I'd be if I weren't. How can I be anything if I have to forget everything that made me?"

Doctor Bloom looks startled when Abigail looks at her for an answer.

"Abigail, you're not just what he made you."

"How can I not be?" Abigail feels herself getting angry and for once feels no need to repress it. "That's what people are made of right? Experiences and influences and...relationships? I hate him, but he was...still is I guess, the most important person in my life and there's no way he didn't make me who I am. I hate him and he made me s-so I hate me, but I don't...I don't want to be nobody! I don't want to disappear!"

Abigail is not sobbing, the tears are moving down her face in slow steady streams and she feels more tight, bitter rage than sadness. Doctor Bloom's eyes look a little wet but she manages to keep her composure.

"Abigail," she shakes her head slightly as if to clear it, "no one else decides who you are. No matter how close he was to you or how much influence he used to have over you, he does not decide who you are. I know you feel bad for having trusted him and for not seeing what he really was, but you are not responsible for anything he did, you understand? You trusted the man he pretended to be, the image of himself that he presented to the rest of the world. That doesn't make you a bad person Abigail, it makes you a perfectly normal girl who wanted to believe the best about her father, just like any other perfectly normal girl."

There's a pregnant silence then during which Abigail can't decided if she wants to laugh or cry so she does nether. She wipes her face on her sleeve and nods wordlessly, not even sure what she means by the gesture. Despite not knowing what she meant to convey, she seems to have conveyed something because doctor Bloom smiles then as if she's very relieved.

"Alright," she comes over and sits next to Abigail on the couch, touches her elbow, "I think we've made progress today. Now, what I want you to do until next time is to keep thinking about your future, but I want to try and figure out where you really want to be. I want you to imagine yourself where you want to be and I want you to imagine what practical, real world steps you can take to get there. Break the process of getting from here to there into as many small steps as you can think of. Ok?"

Abigail nods again and smiles hoping that doctor Bloom doesn't see the relief in her face.

Abigail spends the rest of the day in her room. She tries to read (she's been stuck half way through Stephen King's The Stand for two weeks now) but she can't seem to focus. Her mind keeps racing and she finds herself revisiting doctor Blooms advice. She's not sure where exactly she wants to be, she just knows that she wants Hannibal there with her and it will only take one step to ensure that...one big, intimidating step. She starts to think about the fact that the only other man she's ever said those three little words to is her father but then stops herself, this has nothing to do with him and then and there she decides that from now on nothing in her life will have anything to do with him (not if she can help it.)

It's nine o'clock when a nurse comes to her room to tell her she has a visitor, he's cutting it close, visiting hours end at nine thirty. Any irritation she may have felt over his lateness dissolves when she walks into the common room and sees him standing there, tall and handsome in his brown suit. It takes all the self control she can muster to wait until the nurse leaves them alone before she throws her arms around him. He glances around to ensure they're alone before bending to kiss her, when she feels him about to pull back she grabs his tie and deepens the kiss. When she finally lets him go he laughs breathlessly.

"Ah, so you've been missing me." She's never heard his teasing voice before, she likes it.

"I'm so sorry I got mad at you last night-" She starts, but he cuts her off.

"No, no, no, darling." He kisses her forhead. "You had every right to be cross with me. As I've said before, you're a grown woman, it was hypocritical of me not to trust you to know what you want."

"You were right though," she rakes her nails up and down the back of his neck and cherishes the little involuntary shiver she get's in response, "I would be lying if I said I was over...you know, and there are a lot of guys who wouldn't have thought twice about taking advantage of that. It was really sweet that you were concerned about me."

"But my concern was misplaced." He puts a hand on either side of her face and presses his forehead to hers. "You're much too clever to be taken advantage of."

At that she moves her arms from his neck to around his waist and pulls him as close as she possibly can, burying her face in his chest. They stay that way for a moment, just listening to each other's breathing. then Abigail decides it's now-or-never.

"Hannibal?"

"Hmm?"

"You remember the conversation we had in the car last night right? On the way back?" She feels him tense against her but then he nods.

"Well," her voice cracks and she swallows, "I just wanted you to know that I love you to."

The silence afterward seems to stretch on for hours, she's relieved when his grip on her makes a noise between a laugh and a sob, then pulls back slightly to kiss her.

"Oh, Abigail!" There's a tenderness in his expression that borders on pain. "You've made me so happy!"

He kisses her again on the forehead, then the mouth, then bends to bury his face in the crook of her neck. Relief floods Abigails body at the realization that she did it! She actually said it and now the hard part is over!

"I love you." He whispers against the side of her neck then pulls back so that he's looking into her eyes and their mouths are almost touching. "I promise you that as soon as the opportunity presents itself I will atone for my error in judgement."

Abigail feels her face get hot as she realizes what he means.

"Which is why it makes it all the harder to tell you..." He pulls back a little more, "that I will be out of town for the next few days."

"Huh?" Abigail suddenly snaps back to focus as though someone's poured ice water down her back. "Where and why?"

"My presence has been requested on a case." His expression is the picture of repentance and Abigail suddenly finds herself unable to be angry with him. She sighs but then kisses him again.

"It's ok, it's only four days, righ?"

"Right," he tucks an errant lock of hair behind her ear, "and when I return, it would be my great pleasure to have you for dinner...if you can manage."

"Don't you worry about that." She giggles.

Just as she's about to kiss him again, he gently pushes her away, just in time for the nurse to enter and apologetically announce that visiting hours are over. Abigail regrets that she can't kiss him goodbye.


	4. In which Will ruins everything

Abigail spends the next few days going back and forth between elation and frustration. She tells herself that if she's going to be with Hannibal she'll probably have to get used to this sort of thing. Hannibal has a lot of obligations and she certainly doesn't want him to think that she doesn't understand how important his job is to him. She doesn't want him to think that she's the needy type ether. Still, why did Will Graham have to pick the worst possible time to call him away?

It occurs to her then that she's probably going to have to get over her discomfort around Will. It's clear even to her that the two men are important to each other and Hannibal seems to have so few truly important people in his life that Abigail wouldn't dream of taking one away. Her hostility towards Will had never had anything to do with the man himself anyway, a part of her had been aware of that fact all along but she hadn't wanted to acknowledge it. It was easier to take her hostility out on Will then it was to face all of the ugly things that she had grown to associate him with. Remembering her resolution of the day before, she promises herself that she'll make peace with him as soon as she can.

Her days in the hospital are uneventful but she supposes that's the point, the last thing anyone here needs is more excitement. Outside of her therapy sessions and talks with her lawyer she spends most of her time reading (television isn't allowed here) and walking the grounds when everyone else is inside. She can't go very far before hitting the wall that surrounds the hospital and she can't climb over it unnoticed during the day, so this gets old quickly. At night she gets restless and goes into the woods. She had been familiarized with the forest at such a young age that she hadn't even had a chance to develope the fear of it that seems instinctive in most people.

Tonight the moon is full and it reflects back up off of the snow, making the night quite bright. The barren trees silhouetted against the sky look, to her, like the skeletons of monsters and previous days rain has left a thin crust of ice over the top of the snow, amplifying her footsteps. When she comes to a spot where she can clearly see the moon she sits down on a fallen tree, wrapping her arms around herself against the stinging cold. She doesn't know how long she sits there watching the moon and her own breath curling out of her in wisps of steam.

She thinks about how little of the world she's seen in her short life and about how close she came to never having a chance to see any more of it. She tries to remember all the places that Hannibal has casually mentioned having been, wonders what the moon looks like from Paris or Venice or Vienna and feels very small. This leads her to wonder what Hannibal had been like at her age. During one of their conversations, he had once described himself as having been a "temperamental, impulsive, foolishly romantic boy." Somehow she can't imagine him having ever been any different than he is now, having ever not been as in control as he always seems to be, but the thought that he may not have been is strangely comforting. If that's the sort of thing you can learn over time, then maybe she can be like that someday, maybe he can show her how.

She sits there for as long as she can, until she can barely feel her extremities, and then begrudgingly gets up and starts her walk back to the hospital. It occurs to her that she doesn't even know what time it is but she still doesn't bother to hurry. It's one of those nights when her room feels stifling and she desperately wants to be pretty much anywhere else but since Hannibal isn't home she has nowhere to run to. She briefly contemplates going into the city, there's bound to be something open, but decides that she can't risk being seen. It suddenly hits her how pathetic it is that she can't think of anywhere to go except the house of the guy she's dating (she still can't bring herself to call him her "boyfriend") and for a shameful moment she really misses being part of a family.

By the time she gets back to her room she feels half frozen. She changes into her nightgown, brushes her teeth and curls up in the fetal position under her quilt. When she feels a dull ache blossom in her chest, she convinces herself that it's of the same origin as the dull ache that fills her limbs as they begin to thaw. Luckily the cold seems to have sapped more of her energy then she had thought so sleep doesn't take long to find her. She dreams about a time when she was little (and blissfully naive) and her dad took her fishing. When she awakes she only vaguely remembers her dream but she does remember that during it she felt happy in spite of herself.

The days pass uniformly, save sunday when Freddy Lounds comes to visit her. They talk more about the book but not for very long. Mrs. Lounds offers to come back on a day when Abigail is feeling more "up to it" and Abigail takes her up on her offer. Hannibal has been tactfully not mentioning the book ever since their relationship began but Abigail knows he hasn't forgotten about it, she doesn't miss his subtle cringe (a sort of muted echo of Will's not-so-subtle cringe) every time Freddy Lounds is mentioned. She realizes that he's not bringing it up because he doesn't want to ruin how good things have been going between them lately and she's so touched by that that now she can't talk about the book without her guts twisting into a guilty knot. She briefly wonders if maybe the man she loves is some sort of master of passive aggressive manipulation but then dismisses the notion as paranoid.

On the day Hannibal returns Abigail is sitting in the common room pretending to be absorbed in a game of solitaire. In reality she's watching the door out of the corner of her eye and her thoughts are racing. Had he said when specifically he'd be getting back? Did he mean he'd be returning on Monday or did he actually mean Sunday night? If it was the former he might not show up until later in the evening (it was currently 2:27 p.m.) but if it was the later then he really had no excuse for not having shown up yet.

She hears the door open and her heart leaps into her throat, then drops slightly when she sees that while it is Hannibal, he has Will Graham with him. She remembers that she'd planned to make her peace with Will, but now is not the time. Will comes over to where she's sitting and she pretends not to notice him until he places a hand on her shoulder. She looks up at Will before looking over his shoulder to lock eyes with Hannibal for what she hopes isn't a noticeably long time. Hannibal nods his acknowledgment and a smile briefly flickers across his placid features.

"Hey," Will greets her in the tone he always uses when he's trying to act like speaking to her doesn't make him uncomfortable, "we just got back from a case in Williamsburg and...and you were on the way, so we thought we'd stop and see how you were holding up."

"Oh, ok." She looks in the general direction of his face, but not directly at his eyes. "Do you wanna' sit down?"

"Actually," both their heads turn toward Hannibal, "I think Will would appreciate it, and I would, if we could go somewhere more private."

Abigail felt her stomach sink, if Hannibal had been alone the request wouldn't have bothered her, but Will only ever asked for privacy when he wanted to talk to her about the sorts of things that usually led to really wasn't up for an argument right now.

"I'd be more comfortable here, if it's all the same to you." Now she does look into his eyes and feels a little triumphant thrill when he abruptly looks away.

"Abigail-" There's slight agitation in Will voice before Hannibal cuts him off.

"Or course we want to to be comfortable." He nods in concession towards Abigail before shooting will a warning glance.

"Of course!" Will's tone borders on sarcastic and his smile is forced as he pulls out the chair across from her and sits down. Hannibal remains standing, but moves to lean against the wall behind Abigail. They sit in awkward silence for fifteen grueling seconds before Abigail, in her desperation, blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

"Did you catch the..." She stops herself before she says 'bad guy' and starts over. "How did the case go?"

"It's kind of hard to tell at this point." Will's trying not to sound irritated, he's leaning on the table with his hands in front of him, looking at his own fingers.

"What's that mean?"

"Will has offered up all the incite he can for the time being," Abigail starts a little when Hannibal speaks and has to lean back in her chair to look at him, "most of what remains is lab work."

"And you don't do that part?" She looks back at Will.

"Not really, no." Will glances up at her, then decides he prefers the cards in front of her. "But if they find me new evidence I might be able to tell them more about what we're looking for."

"Why did Dr. Lecter need to be there," she's glad that she didn't slip and call him Hannibal, "if you're the one...profiling?"

"He's a psychiatric consultant." Will's started to anxiously pick at his nails now.

"What's that mean?"

"Sometimes," Hannibal interjects when Will seems to have trouble answering, "it's helpful for Will to have someone to bounce ideas off of."

"Oh." The conversation just sort of locks up then, Abigail feels a faint stirring of panic when she realizes that she can't think of anything to say to keep it moving. She hears Hannibal take a breath as if he's about to speak, but Will beats him to it.

"Did you have any visitors over the weekend?" He tries to make it sound like a casual inquiry but Abigail can see the suppressed disgust in his eyes. She decides there's no point in drawing it out.

"You mean like Freddy Lounds?" She sees Will wince, imagines that she can feel Hannibal wince.

"Yeah," one of his hands, still in front of him on the table, curls into a fist, "exactly like Freddy Lounds."

"That's none of your business." She hisses and is proud of how calm she sounds until she jumps at the feel of Hannibal's hand on her shoulder.

"Will is just concerned that you may be being taken advantage of."

"If he is I think he can say that himself." It comes out angrier than she'd wanted it to and she instantly feels bad for snapping at him, he's just trying to keep the peace after all. Then something occurred to her and suddenly all her attention is back on will.

"Wait, how do you even know she was here?"

"That's none of your business." Will finally takes his eyes off of the table in order to glare at her.

"Did doctor Bloom tell you?" Her voice cracks and her eyes begin to sting at the thought of the betrayal.

"Abigail." Hannibal finally comes around to where she can see him. "I have never known Alana to break confidentiality."

"That's not really a 'no', is it?" She can't bring herself to look at Hannibal, so she glares at Will instead. "You know what? I'm suddenly really tired. I think you should leave."

For a moment Will looks as though he might object but then he notices that the commotion at their table has caught the attention of a nearby nurse who's now watching them warily. He gets up and stomps out of the room. Hannibal sighs and puts his hand back on her shoulder, squeezing slightly until she looks up at him. When their eyes meet her expression softens and she reaches up to put her hand on top of his. He waits a few seconds before withdrawing his hand to walk away and, as he does, a neatly folded piece of paper falls into her lap.

Abigail goes immediately to her room and falls back on the bed, closes her eyes and tries to steady her breathing. The piece of paper is in the pocket of her jeans but she can't read it now, she needs to calm down first. If she hadn't been so angry, she might have giggled over the fact that Doctor Hannibal Lecter had just passed her a note as though they were highschool sweethearts in study hall, but for the time being all she can do is fume over how Will Graham had ruined a reunion that she'd been looking forward to for four days. She lays there a few minutes with her eyes closed taking slow deep breaths until she feels her heart rate slow down. When she unfolds the paper she finds only simple instructions written in not-quite-perfect handwriting (a sign that he must have been in a rush when he wrote the note) instructing her to got to a specific intersection that was about a five minute walk from the hospital and that he would be waiting there for her.

It's an unseasonably warm night as Abigail makes her way to the designated meeting place. The abrupt thaw has produced a small flood, the ground is sodden, the gutters along the side of the road have turned into small streams. The dense fog adds to the secretive thrill Abigail feels and she focuses on that feeling in a not entirely successful effort to push all thoughts of what happened earlier out of her mind. Tonight her and Hannibal finally going to take their relationship to the next level, she tells herself that she will not let anything ruin this for her. Her heart flutters when she sees Hannibals car parked alongside the road near the intersection.

Once they've greeted each other, they're silent throughout the rest of the drive. Abigail doesn't mind this, especially since Hannibal keeps reaching over and touching her whenever the task of driving permits. He puts his hand on top of hers, a few times he pretends to miss and touches her knee instead. By the time they get to his house she's nervous but in a good way and Will Graham and all the worlds other little irritants have ceased to exist. Tonight it's just the two of them.

He barely has a chance to remove his coat before she's on him, her arms around his neck and her mouth devouring his. He makes his appreciation of her boldness evident, he wraps one arm around her waist and brings his other hand up to cradle the back of her head. When they part they are both breathless, he pulls her flush against him and buries his face in her hair. He inhales deeply before placing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Sweet girl." Hannibal purrs. "My sweet, sweet girl." For a moment she's content to just stay like that, listening to him breath, smelling his cologne, feeling the heat of his body, but then she remembers what tonight is about and that hunger flares up in her again. She puts her hands on his chest and gently pushes him just far enough away so that she can look up into his eyes. One of her hands slides up to the back of his neck. He leans in and kisses her forehead but then draws back again.

"I believe, Mrs. Hobbs, that I promised you dinner."

Abigail is nearly frustrated at his seeming stalling, but then he smiles and she can't be. Instead she reminds herself that there's no need to rush, nods, and follows him into the kitchen. Anyway, it's not as though she doesn't like watching him cook.

He pours her a glass of red wine and then sets about preparing what he says is a "simple dish" but when Abigail asks exactly what it is he gives an explanation that sounds very complicated. She decides that she doesn't need to understand what it is as long as it tastes good (which Hannibals cooking always does.) In spite of herself, as she sits and watches him work, her earlier argument with Will replayed in her mind. She downs half her glass in one swallow and tries to forget about it, but her traitorous brain won't stop reminding her of how Hannibal had taken Wills side. Feeling unwelcome agitation start to prickle at the back of her mind, she downs the other half of her glass and then pours herself another from the bottle which Hannibal has helpfully left on the counter beside her.

Hannibal looks up from what he's doing and arches an eyebrow.

"You seem a little tense."

"It's nothing." Abigail forces a smile.

"Good," he looks away from her but his tone suggests that he's not at all convinced. "I was concerned that you may dwelling on that..unpleasantness that happened earlier."

He just goes quiet after that and the silence that he leaves quickly turns into an unbearable vacuum that Abigail can resist the urge to fill.

"Actually," She tries to keep her tone light as though the topic of conversation left her only mildly irritated. "It did kind of bother me."

"What specifically are you referring to as it?" He still doesn't look up, the only sign that he's grown wary is a barely perceptible tensing of his shoulders.

"I don't know," she does know but she's far from eager to launch into this. "The whole thing, the way you're not even trying to understand my side of it...the way you took Will's side." Hannibal heaves a barely audible sigh and his mouth sets in the way it always does when he's irritated and trying not to show it.

"First of all," his tone is calculatedly calm and measured. "I do understand."

"You do?" what she wanted to say was 'you have a funny way of showing it' but she decides to take a slightly less combative route.

"Of course," he looks up but his hands keep working. "Since this began you've been the constant topic of a conversation in which you've been essentially denied the right to take part. People have speculating about you, speaking for you and speaking against you but apart from Mrs. Lounds none of them have bothered to speak to you. It's not difficult to understand why you'd want to be allowed to add your own voice to the conversation, to represent yourself. In fact I'd dare say that you're even entitled to do so."

"Then why don't you want me to write the book?" He's looking a little too intensely at the the chopped vegetables in front of him as though trying to chose his words carefully. Abigail continues before he has a chance to speak. "You know I wouldn't put anything in there that would hurt you, right?"

"I've never suspected that you would." He pauses here and looks apprehensive, as though he knows that what he's about to say is going to upset her. "I will admit that my concerns are more for Mr. Graham then for myself."

"Yeah," Abigail feels her throat tighten. "That kinda' seems to be the case most of the time."

Defensive rage flashes in Hannibals eyes for a fraction of a second but his expression remains the same.

"Abigail," he takes a deep breath before he continues. "Will is my patient and my colleague and my friend. I would be remiss not to have his best interest at heart."

"Is that how is gonna' be then?" She feels strangely hot and light headed (but she's only had one glass of wine hasn't she?) and seems unable to stop the words from coming out. "Are you always going to side with him against me?"

"My darling," he sounds more exasperated now then angry. "I am not against you and for that matter neither is Will."

At that Abigail starts to laugh, she's not even entirely sure why, and keeps laughing until it dissolves into choked sobs. She feels a strange tilting sensation, like she's on a boat on a windy day but the room doesn't seem to be moving.

"You can't tell me you honestly believe that bullshit about him not wanting me to get taken advantage of." He openly glares at her, he doesn't like it when she uses 'foul language', but now she can't stop herself. "The only reason Will cares about me at all is because he feels guilty and you know what? I don't see why I should be responsible for making him feel better!"

"Abigail," there's a tightly coiled warning in his tone as he walks around the counter to stand in front of her and takes her wine glass out of her hand. When he speaks his tone implies that what he's saying is more of a command then a suggestion. "I think you need to calm down."

"Or what?" In some distant part of her mind she realizes that this is the first time she's ever snapped at him and feels a little guilty about it. Now she thinks that the room is tilting...or is she tilting? Her mouth seems to be moving on it's own, without any help from her brain. "You'll take me back to the hospital? That's really convenient for you isn't it? Whenever you get sick of me you can just send me back to the looney bin!"

"You are acting like a child." Hannibals voice is a venomous hiss and his eyes are somehow darker and brighter at the same time, this is the angriest she's ever seen him.

"That's-" She was going to say 'that's how you see me isn't it?' but she doesn't get the chance. She slides off of the counter and as her feet hit the floor her knees buckle and for a few seconds everything goes black. When she regains her vision she's kneeling on the floor and Hannibal is kneeling in front of her, looking into her face with urgent concern.

"Look at me!" He had been talking before, but she hadn't been able to make out what he was saying. He continues in a gentler tone, edged with guilt. "Please look at me Abigail."

When she tilts her head up to look into his eyes her whole body seems to want to follow it, his grip on her shoulders is the only thing that keeps her from rocking back and hitting her head on the counter behind her.

"Have you eaten today Abigail?" His thumb slides down to press against the pulse point on her throat, just above her scar.

"I...I don't know." Her mind is suddenly sluggish and cloudy and she feels a strange, involuntary relaxation rippling its way through her limbs. When she talks it comes out slurred. "What kind of wine is that?" Hannibals hand slides up from her throat to the side of her face and she leans into it, smiling involuntarily.

"How have you been sleeping?"

"Not really been much." As soon as she says it it occurs to her how little sense it makes and she laughs at herself.

"I think you should lie down." He grabs her arm and puts it around his neck and then picks her up bridal style. The sudden change in altitude makes her head swim and she laughs again.

"You're really strong." She murmurs against his neck.

He carries her to his room and lays her down on his bed on top of the comforter. The edges of her vision are starting to blur. When he moves to stand back up she tightens her grip around his neck, keeping him bent over her, and gives him a soft, wet kiss on the mouth.

"Sweet girl," he smiles and strokes her hair before gently prying her arms off of him. "You need to rest, what you're feeling are most likely the effects of exhaustion."

"Ok." She lays back on the pillow but then reaches over and grabs his hand. "Could you stay with me?"

"Of course." He removes his hand from her grip and walks around the bed to lay beside her. He lays one arm across her waist and kisses her on the cheek. In the few seconds it takes Abigail to fade into unconsciousness she thinks how odd it is that she could become so exhausted without even noticing it, less than an hour ago she hadn't even felt tired. She mentally shrugs off the thought and nestles closer to Hannibal and then everything just ...stops.

Hannibal stays there holding her until he hears her breathing even out. Confident that it won't wake her, he reaches over and turns on the lamp beside the bed. For a moment he looks at her, takes in her placid expression and lidded eyes, her hair spread out around her, and thinks that she's beautiful like this...his little Ophelia. Possessiveness and lust begin to stir inside him but he forces himself to ignore them, reminds himself that after tonight he'll be allowed to indulge all he likes but now there is still work to do. He's too close to let his own baser urges spoil everything. He takes a few deep breaths to slow his heart rate and then, detached and mechanical, begins to remove her clothing.


	5. In which Abigail dreams

Abigail dreams...  
She knows it's a dream because she's walking through the woods and it's summer...and her dad is there. They're on one of the hiking trails near the cabin, the setting sun is casting golden light through the trees and the crickets are starting to sing. Abigail doesn't feel scared or worried or angry, just at peace. In the dream she can't remember anything outside the present moment and the present moment is perfect. Her and her dad are holding hands and he's talking to her about something, she doesn't remember what exactly but that doesn't matter. She's just listening to his voice.  
They walk along a few minutes before they come to a clearing. Abigail could have sworn that she knew every path in those woods but she doesn't recognize this place. She looks over at her dad but he isn't her dad anymore, he's Will, or maybe he's been Will the whole time and she just hasn't noticed. Either way, the her that she is in the dream isn't alarmed by this. She smiles and he smiles back, more genuine and warm than anything she's ever seen on the real Will's face.  
"Well," he lets go of her hand and walks ahead of her to stand in the middle of the clearing. "Here's as good a place as any I guess."  
The sun seems to set in the time it takes her to walk over to him because by the time she gets there the golden light from before is gone, replaced with the silvery light of the moon. Without knowing why, Abigail goes to lay down on the ground but he stops her.  
"You're going to want to take that off first." He says, motioning to the sun dress she's wearing. She nods and pushes the straps off of her shoulders, steps out of the dress, notes with a little amusement that Will is looking away. She lays down on the short, soft grass in front of him. Once she's settled he kneels down beside her and starts rifling through a canvas bag that's on the ground beside him. She doesn't remember him having been carrying it on the walk to the clearing.  
"How does the story end?" Had he been telling her a story? He must have been because when she asks this he looks at her and smiles indulgently.  
"Oh," he takes a knife out of the bag, starts to sharpen it. "Well how it usually goes in modern tellings is that a woodsman gets to the the cabin just in time to stop the wolf from killing little Red and he kills the wolf and Red lives. There's another telling where the wolf eats little Red and her grandmother, but then the woodsman shows up and carves him open while he's sleeping and fills his stomach with rocks."  
At this Abigail laughs and Will laughs too.  
"Yeah, that ones pretty ridiculous." He smiles and goes on. "In the original telling the wolf, who you'll remember is still playing the part of little Red's grandmother, climbs into bed and tells little Red to come lay with him. He tells her 'take off your hat my child and throw it into the fire, you won't be needing it any more.' He tells her 'take off your coat my child and throw it into the fire, you won't be needing it any more."  
With each repetition he makes another pass over the blade, he keeps his eyes on her face.  
"He says to her 'take off your dress my child and throw it into the fire, you won't be needing it any more.' He says this over and over again until all her garments have been burned and then he says to her 'come and lay with me my child.'"  
Will pauses and his expression goes blank, he sits very still and stares into Abigail's eyes until finally she breaks the silence.  
"What happens then?"  
"Then," he swallows. "He eats her."  
"No woodsman?"  
"Nope, no woodsman."  
He looks back down at the knife and keeps sharpening but then pauses and looks off into the trees. His brows furrow and a slight frown twists his lips.  
"What's wrong?" Abigail wants to sit up and look but she can't move, her body feels like it's been filled with wet sand.  
"Don't you hear that?" Will's voice sounds like it's very far away but Abigail can suddenly hear the sound he's talking about, it sounds like two voices having a conversation but she can't make out what they're saying. She blinks and when she opens her eyes she's back in Hannibal's room. Her vision is very blurry so that she can only see what's being directly touched by the light given off by the lamp on the bed side table. She realizes that there are two men, a young black man in a tweed suit and a middle aged man with a mustache and goatee, standing at the end of the bed and suddenly becomes all too aware of the fact that she's naked. She can't move her body and when she tries to speak she finds that it takes all the strength she can muster just to open her mouth, only to have no sound come out.  
"I'm just saying" says the middle aged man. "I had to kill my entire family and all he had to do was pitch woo to some cute little barely legal chick. It just kinda' seems to me like the work load might not be quite evenly divided. Particularly when you take the, ahem (he motions to his own body, he's wearing a grey jumpsuit) aftermath into account."  
"Well," the younger man's voice manages to sound both flat and irritated. "If you'd been more careful, there wouldn't have been any aftermath."  
"Forgive me, robo maestro, for being a creature of passion and impulse. We can't all be automatons like you."  
"I suppose there's a reason I never had much use for passion."  
The middle aged man winds up as though to deliver a particularly witty come back but is cut off by the closing of the bedroom door which, to Abigail's ears, reverberates around the room like a gunshot.  
"Gentlemen." Hannibal's voice comes from somewhere behind the two men. They both fall silent and straighten up like children who's teacher has just walked into the room.  
"Good evening doctor." The younger man's tone is stiff and formal.  
"So, Lecter," the middle aged man seems like the sort of person who rarely has the patience for formalities. "If this goes right do 'ya think the man himself might actually put in some sort of appearance tonight?"  
"As if you have any right to demand-" the younger man sounds as though he's about to launch into a tirade but Hannibal interrupts. Abigail can't see him but he sounds like he's off to her right.  
"Dr. Gideon, I assure you that after tonight any doubts that you may have will be laid firmly to rest." He walks closer to her so that he's just barely visible in her periphery. "Now, if you will both please take your positions we can begin."  
"No offence or anything." The middle aged man moves to the left side of the bed. "It's just that, after the considerable contribution I've made, it would be nice to actually see something for once. This is starting to feel less like the conjuring of dark and ancient forces and more like three grown men hanging out together in a dark room reading poetry out of old books by candlelight. I don't know about either of you, but that's the gayest thing _I _can think of."  
The younger man sneers, but Hannibal interjects before he can say anything.  
"Mr. Budge, if you'd be so kind as to begin the incantation."  
"Dr. Lecter," the younger man ( ) looks vaguely distressed. "Are you sure we shouldn't be doing this in the original Latin? I mean, I speak Latin as well as I do English and-"  
"Show off." Dr. Gideon grumbles under his breath.  
"This will be fine." Hannibal is talking to Mr. Budge but glaring at Dr. Gideon. "The meaning and intent are more important that the specific words and I thought it might be easier for the two of you to do it in your native tongue."  
"Hey Lecter." both the other men look over at Dr. Gideon who is looking directly into Abigail's eyes, her heart races but she still can't move or speak. "Is it a problem that her eyes are open."  
"It shouldn't be," Hannibal's tone is a little irritated but not concerned. "She drank the whole glass."  
Gideon reaches as though to touch her face but pulls his hand back when Hannibal makes a noise not unlike a growl.  
"Alright then," Mr. Budge's tone is suddenly all business. "I will begin the incantation, after two repetitions you will join me and follow my rhythm exactly."  
At exactly he looks over at Dr. Gideon.  
"You think I don't know how to fuckin' chant?" He takes a step toward Mr. Budge.  
"It's not my fault you have no rhythm." Mr. Budge matches Gideon's step with a tilt of his head.  
"If I smack him, will it mess up the whole ritual thing?" Gideon looks toward Hannibal.  
"Gentlemen." It sounds like Hannibal is speaking through gritted teeth, at the warning the other two settle down. "Begin."  
Mr. Budge centers himself at the end of the bed again, placing his hands on the foot board on either side of him. He lowers his head reverently and begins to chant in a firm, steady whisper.  
"Arch angel, dark angel,  
lend me thy light,  
through death's veil 'til we have heaven in sight.  
Arch angel, dark angel,  
lend me thy light,  
through death's veil 'til we have heaven in sight."

As he begins the third repetition the other two join in. Their voices seem to fill all the space around her and she feels weightless, as though floating on the current of their words. It's overwhelming and terrifying and she wants desperately to scream or to struggle but she can't. Abigail's heart is racing as she's dragged unwillingly back down into darkness.  
When she gains awareness again she's back in the field with Will kneeling over her, he looks like he's panicked but trying not to show it. She can still hear the chanting and she knows that he can hear it too. He looks down at her and places the knife between her breasts.  
"It's gonna' be ok." He slices into her and for a second she's back in Hannibal's room and it's Hannibal leaning over her and the knife pressed against her sternum is a paint brush and that paint brush is leaving a trail of something warm and thick down the center of her chest. Abigail blinks and is back in the field. Will has split her open and is buried up to his elbows in her abdomen, she can feel his hands moving but it doesn't hurt. He seems to be intently searching for something inside her.  
"Don't worry baby girl." It's what her dad used to call her but for some reason in this context it sounds perfectly natural coming out of Will's mouth. "I just need to-"  
A crack of thunder drowns out what he says after that and then Abigail is back in Hannibal's room...she thinks. It's so dark she can't see anything at all, but from the other side of the room she can hear breathing. It's not human breathing, it's the raspy panting of a big animal, like a horse or a cow. She hears the creaking of floor boards and tries struggling again with the same result as before, she does manage a barely audible whimper. She feels something cold brush against her leg.  
Something settles on top of her, something hard as stone and covered in feathers and scales. She feels hot breath on her collar bone followed by the brush of something slimy. This time Abigail manages a scream, but it's a pitiful choked little thing and somehow she knows that no one is going to help her anyway. She's hit with a fresh wave of panic as she feels her legs being pulled apart. All she can do is sob as she feels something pressing against her entrance.  
As panic overwhelms her she's suddenly back in the field again. The sky is completely black now and as lightning flashes from behind the clouds she sees that Will is gone. It begins to rain and, though she still can't feel any pain, she feels her insides going cold. She tries to call out to Will, to beg him not to leave her, but with her rib cage pulled open her lungs no longer work. Off in the distance she can hear a large animal, like a horse or a cow, breathing.

When Abigail wakes up she's alone in Hannibal's room still fully clothed and laying on top of the is streaming through the rooms one large window and, despite the fact that nothing seems amiss, she can't shake the feeling that something is very was something she was supposed to remember, she thinks, but the night before seems to have left only a vague, faint imprint in her mind. She remembers arguing with Hannibal in the kitchen and then...pain in her knees and then him picking her up and carrying her to the bedroom. She knows there was more after that, something very important, but every time she tries to bring it into focus it dissolves.  
By her fully clothed state, Abigail deduces that her and Hannibal couldn't have had sex and feels a mild pang of disappointment. Though she supposes she shouldn't be too disappointed that he hadn't taken advantage of her while she was, apparently, blacked out. She's a little unsteady on her feet when she stands up but only takes a moment to adjust. After carefully smoothing out the imprint that her body left in the comforter and checking the mirror over Hannibal's dresser to make sure her hair isn't too bad, she opens the door. After making her way down the hallway at a deliberately slow pace, she finds Hannibal in the dining room, setting two places at the table.  
"Good morning," he walks over and kisses her lightly on the lips. "I've already telephoned Dr. Bloom since I thought it would look suspicious if I didn't. I told her I'd return you after I fed you breakfast."  
"Sounds good." She smiled uneasily back up at him and then brushes past him to go sit at the table. He goes back into the kitchen and returns with the food, poached eggs, at least she can identify this one. They eat in silence until he seems to grow suspicious of the fact that she's not talking.  
"How did you sleep?" It's an innocuous enough question but in the time she's known him Abigail has learned that inquiring after your health or how you've slept or rather or not you've eaten is Hannibal's polite way of asking 'what's wrong with you?'  
"This is going to sound weird, but could you tell me what happened last night?"  
"Do you mean after you collapsed?" He asks almost conversationally.  
"I...collapsed?" She sets her fork down. "You mean I fainted?"  
"I'm afraid so." He shoots her a sympathetic look. "Don't you remember?"  
Abigail can only shake her head.  
"Well," now he puts his fork down. "We were in the kitchen...discussing your...interactions with Mrs. Lounds, do you remember that much?"  
She nods.  
"You became...a bit hysterical, do you remember what you said?"  
She shakes her head.  
"Ah," his brow furrows. "Well, you were sitting on the counter and when you went to stand you collapsed onto the floor. Do you remember that?"  
"Kind of." She picks her fork back up and begins to shuffle her food around absently just to have something to focus on.  
"Do you remember me bringing you into the bedroom?"  
"Kind of." She blushes a little at the way his voice goes quieter when he says the word bedroom. "Did anything happen after that?"  
"Oh, Abigail." His expression turns sad. "Of course not."  
"No, no." She back pedals as quickly as she can. "I just meant... were there...people here? After I fell asleep?"  
"No, why do you ask?"  
"I just remember..." She doesn't know what she remembers. "Voices."  
He sighs, reaches over and puts his hand on hers.  
"Sweet girl...you've been under a great deal of pressure, haven't you?"  
"Yeah." She turns her hand over so that she can thread her fingers through his.  
"Tell me, do they give you anything at the hospital to help you sleep?"  
"No, I mean, they offered but I didn't want it."  
"You would be surprised what lack of sleep can do to the mind and the body." He glances away from her. "Have you considered taking it?"  
"No," she shakes her head as if to emphasize the point. "If I did that they'd make me take it at lights out and then...and then I don't know when I'd be able to come see you."  
"That is a problem." He looks at her face for a few moments, she can see the wheels in his head turning. "How about this, you promise me you'll take the tranquilizers...four night a week? That leaves the other three open...at least until I can find a more permanent solution. Can you do that for me Abigail?"  
"I guess." She's reluctant but when he looks at her like that, concerned and imploring, she can't say no.  
"That's my sweet girl." He kisses her on the cheek and then goes back to his meal.

When they return to the hospital (Hannibal can bring her right up to the gate this time), Dr. Bloom is waiting for her with a very unconvincing smile on her face. They have a talk about why Abigail ran away and why she ran to Dr. Lecter's house specifically. Abigail says that she had been feeling anxious and she went to Dr. Lecter because she feels safe around him. It's not a lie. That night Abigail takes her medicine like a good girl and falls asleep earlier than she has in months.  
She does not dream.

The chant Tobias starts is Satanic Mantra by Cradle of Filth...because I honestly couldn't think of anything else to put there.


	6. In which Freddy is annoyingly perceptive

Abigail awakes the next morning, still slightly groggy from the tranquilizer, with the echo of another dream she can't remember still reverberating in her mind. All she remembers is that she had been back in the clearing. She doesn't remember exactly what it refers to, but the phrase 'the clearing' definitely stands out in her mind. She can also remember being alone and terrified. She stands and stretches, trying to dispel the chemically induced heaviness in her limbs, and then ambles down the hall to the bathroom to take a very cold shower.

She walks back to her room in her robe and removes it after she's locked her door. As she's about to begin applying her moisturizer something in the full length mirror behind her catches her eye. Abigail walks over to the mirror and examines herself. Her knees are badly bruised from her landing on them the night before last...there's also a red blotch on her collar bone, like some sort of rash. The blotch burns slightly, like a sunburn, when she touches it. She turns around and examines her back to see faint red lines on her left shoulder and wonders if maybe she had scratched herself in her sleep.  
She sits out in the common room and reads most of the day. Come meal time she finds her appetite strangely absent and decides that she's going to ask Dr. Bloom for a complete list of the side effects of the tranquilizer she's on. Something feels...off but she can't put her finger on it. The rest of that day passes as a grey blur. She goes to bed that night feeling vaguely sick.

The next morning is a little better, but not much, and she considers asking to be put on a different tranquilizer. Abigail just wants to go outside and walk, try to clear the fog around her brain, but she can't. It's continued to get warmer since the night she met Hannibal at the intersection. Now it's about 50 degrees, there's a constant shroud of dense, sticky fog and the ground is roughly the consistency of cake batter. She spends the whole day in her room alternating between pacing and napping.  
The visit she gets from Freddy Lounds the next day is like an oasis in the desert. They talk about the book, as usual. Things are starting to take shape but they hit a snag when the day her father died comes up.

"Do we really need to go into specifics about...that day?" Abigail tries to keep her tone neutral. "I mean, the books supposed to be all about my perspective anyway and pretty much everything that has anything to do with Will Graham has been printed in a million papers already, so it's not like there's a need to rehash it."

"Well sure they've read about it, but they haven't heard it from you. They haven't read what you were thinking or what you were feeling. Abigail, honey, you've seen things that no one else has seen and you know things no one else knows. This was one of the biggest stories of the decade and you were closer to it than anyone me, the public is going to eat up you're every word."

Mrs. Lounds is leaning forward slightly in her chair, an eager smile on her face. She looks like a very pretty, well styled hyena.

"I know," Abigail tries to think of a way to phrase what she's about to say that won't provoke a stream of questions but realizes that, since this is Freddy Lounds, a stream of questions is pretty much inevitable. "I'd just be more comfortable if we could not put any more about Will and Dr. Lecter in there than necessary."

"Why?" Mrs. Lounds arches one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows and just.. waits.

"Well, like you said, it supposed to be my story."

"But aren't they a part of your story?" Mrs. Lounds says the next part in a tone more fitting for a town gossip than a reporter. "From what I hear, they've both been visiting you pretty frequently."

"Who told you that?" Abigail goes rigid.

"Don't worry, I've just been chatting with some of the orderlies, nothing untoward. All they told me was that Mr. Graham comes around about once every week or so and Lecter about two or three times a week." She gives Abigail a look that might be suggestive but Abigail isn't entirely sure she's not just being paranoid.

"Their just worried about me..." Abigail s voice sounds strained and thin even to her own ears.

"Oh, honey." Mrs. Lounds gives her a you-poor-little-girl look. "Let me guess, they told you they're worried about me 'taking advantage' right?"  
She takes Abigail's silence as a confirmation.

"And, of course, since Mr. Graham has the bed side manner of a squirrel on coke it only makes sense that he'd send Lecter to handle the part that actually requires persuasion."

"Dr. Lecter's been really nice to me." It's all Abigail can think to say.

"Abigail," Mrs. Lounds heaves a theatrical, exasperated sigh. "You can't tell me you haven't noticed how Dr. Lecter shadows Graham like a guard dog? How much do you want to bet that every time he comes to talk to you it's because Graham's been whining to him about how big, mean Freddy Lounds won't respect his privacy."

"Well... he did kind of save my life." Abigail is surprised to find herself coming to Will's defense, then again, it's not just Will's defense. "They both did."

"Well the I guess the question is, if that's all the did, why wouldn't they want you putting it in the book?"  
Abigail abruptly glances away.

"Abigail," Mrs. Lounds is trying to look concerned but not quite nailing it. "If anything else has happened between you and Mr. Graham, you can tell me. Remember, the only reason I'm doing this is because I wan't to help you."

"What?" Abigail almost laughs. "Me and Will?"

"Considering how vulnerable you must feel after all you've been through, I think it's downright cruel of him to use Lecter come in here with his air of authority and his paternal demeanor and try to and manipulate you. Frankly, it's a little disgusting."

"Don't talk about Hannibal that way!" Abigail didn't mean to shout, really, she didn't and she whispers the second half as if to compensate. "You don't even know him."

"I don't even know..." Something lights up in Mrs. Lounds eyes, something Abigail doesn't like. "...Hannibal?"  
In the time it takes Abigail to fumble for a response Freddy Lounds begins putting the pieces together in her head.

"Exactly how close have you and 'Hannibal' gotten since he saved your life?"

"I don't know what you mean." Abigail lies. "I...I call Will by his first name all the time."

"Yeah," Mrs. Lounds laughs under her breath." But Dr. Lecter seems to me like the sort of guy who's selective about who he lets onto a first name basis with him."

"So..."

"So how long have you and him been on a first name basis?"

"It's...nothing, would you just drop it."

"Ok," Mrs. Lounds raises her hands in mock defensiveness. "We can leave that out of the book if you want..."

"There's nothing to leave out!"

"It's...O...K." Mrs. Lounds leans forward and touches Abigail's forearm, which Abigail immediately retracts. "Don't be so defensive. I mean, admittedly, it seems like an odd match to me...what with him being over twice your age and all, but who am I to judge? Geeze, if you could see some of my ex boyfriends..."

"He's not my boyfriend." Abigail's relieved to be able to return to the familiar ground of half truths...she still hasn't ever called Hannibal her 'boyfriend'.

"Ok, ok...whatever it is, we can omit it, but you need to understand that that's a pretty big omission and if we're going to leave that out I'd prefer we not leave anything else out."

Abigail only looks at her, perplexed.

"Since, as a journalist, it goes against my personal code of ethics to exclude any portion of the truth."

"You think I've been keeping things from you?"

"Well...I didn't but..." Mrs. Lounds shrugs. "I also can't help but notice that you're not denying it any more."  
Abigail can only look defeated.

"Like I said," Mrs. Lounds touches her forearm and this time she doesn't pull away. "I'm perfectly willing to keep that just between us girls, if you promise that you're not going to withhold anything else."

Abigail nearly denies it again but then realizes how futile that will be. At this point even if it weren't true Mrs. Lounds would still proceed under the assumption that it was.

"Ok." Abigail's voice is barely audible.

"Ok." Mrs. Lounds smiles triumphantly. "From now on, full disclosure."

Once Mrs. Lounds leaves, Abigail locks herself in her room. She has slowly become aware that she's developed a reputation among the staff for being "reclusive" and among the other patients for being "stuck up." She's not particularly bothered by this since she has no desire to develop any personal connections to this place. Making friends here would feel too much like accepting the fact that this has become her life. She tells herself that she'll ask Dr. Bloom about when she can leave here but then realizes that she doesn't know where she'd go. She has no money, no job and no family to speak of.

She wonders if she should tell Hannibal that Mrs. Lounds knows about them now. Of coarse, that would only lead to another argument about the book. Then again, now that Mrs. Lounds has leverage over her she's not even sure how much control she'll have over what goes into the book anyway. Abigail wonders for a moment exactly how bad the repercussions would be if she were to try and pull the plug on the whole thing but then realizes how unwise that would be. Without the incentive of the book Mrs. Lounds would be far less inclined to keep the relationship a secret. For the first time she allows her self to consider that maybe her and Hannibal's relationship doesn't need to stay a secret.

Was it really so scandalous? It wasn't as though she was a child and couples had met under far more suspect circumstances. Besides, it had to be brought out into the open eventually. Did they need to wait until after her dad was out of the news? Until she was 'older'? If so, how much older exactly? For a moment the fear that his feelings for her were just infatuation and that he may eventually get over them tries to claw it's way back to the surface but she refuses to give it any attention.

Hannibal shows up after the ground has solidified slightly, they're able to go into the garden out behind the hospital where they can sit in relative has been missing him and does want to talk to him, but there's so much going through her mind that she's afraid to open her mouth in case it all comes rushing out. She can't pick a place to start. Hannibal sits in silence, as though waiting for her to speak, right up until it gets awkward where upon he mercifully breaks it.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Yeah, the tranquilizers are making me kind of foggy, but I haven't had any more...episodes so I guess that counts as better. Plus, it keeps me from dreaming."  
Hannibal makes a thoughtful noise in his throat.

"Why do you suppose it is that you can't sleep?"

"I don't know," Abigail sighs. "I guess it's just that I spend all day trying not to think about...everything and then it all comes rushing in on me at night."

"Well, if you're referring to what I think you're referring to..." he looks over to confirm her understanding and she nods. "All I can tell you is to give it time. You have you're whole life ahead of you and you would be surprised how quickly even the most traumatic of events can become...non-issues (on that one word his voice goes oddly cold) if you only put them in perspective."

Abigail thinks for a moment that he sounds a little too much like he's speaking from experience.

"Besides," he reaches over and discreetly takes her hand, they can't be entirely sure that no one is watching. "I'd like to think that I've given you more pleasant things to dwell on."

His smile makes her blush. She decides that now is as good a time as any to tell him that their...whatever it is is no longer as secret as it once was.

"There's kind of something I need to tell you...we might have a problem."

"Problem?"

"Freddy Lounds was here earlier."

"That's never seemed to bother you before." Hannibal tries to keep his tone impartial but can't stop himself from sneering just slightly at the end. Abigail decides that the best approach is to just get it over with as quickly as possible.

"She knows about us."

"I see," Hannibal's jaw stiffens and his grip on her hand tightens just slightly, those are the only signs of his agitation. "And how did she come by this knowledge?"

His tone is stern and she suddenly feels the disparity in their ages all too keenly.

"I...I didn't mean to tell her...I never even actually said it. She does this...thing where she picks apart everything you say!"

Hannibal's expression becomes more thoughtful than angry.

"I don't blame you." He strokes the back of her hand but keeps his gaze on something slightly to his left. "That woman has a knack for minding other peoples business."

His grip on her hand has gotten a little too tight, she pulls her hand away, bringing his attention back to her.

"She said she'll keep quiet about it if I start getting more...detailed in the book." Abigail's voice cracks a little. "I still don't plan on telling her...everything."

"Naturally."

"But now that she knows I was hiding one thing, she's probably gonna' get more...aggressive and I'm not sure I can trust myself to...I mean, I'm not going to tell her but she might start picking apart everything I say and then she might start finding...holes in my story and then she might...she might..."

"I know." Hannibal's expression is contemplative, he falls silent for a long moment. "I suppose if you decline to finish the book she plans to expose our...courtship?"

Abigail nods, Hannibal looks thoughtful for a few more seconds.

"Well, suppose we let her?"

"But wouldn't that-"

"There may be repercussions,among other things I'm sure Alana will be none too pleased with me, but any of them would be preferable to Mrs. Lounds prying into your past. God forbid she should find actual evidence."

"Do you think she could?' Abigail's stomach drops, the thought had honestly never occurred to her.

"I wouldn't underestimate Mrs. Lounds, you'd be surprised what someone with so few scruples can accomplish if they feel they have enough to gain from it."

"Oh god!" Abigail suddenly can't breath. Hannibal puts his arms around her and strokes her hair.

"Relax my sweet girl, I said I'd protect you, did I not?"

Abigail nods, presses closer to him.

"But...won't it be bad for you if everyone knows?"

Hannibal laughs.

"True, it will be treated as a scandal, which may lead some of my clients to...take their business else where but it's hardly as though I need the money." He pushes her back slightly and kisses her briefly on the lips.

"And you are worth far more than a minor slight to my reputation."

"Thank you so much." Abigail puts her arms around his neck.

"Then it's settled, the next time you see Mrs. Lounds, you tell her that you're no longer interested in collaborating with her and then," He kisses her again. "Come what may."

When they walk back into the common room Dr. Bloom is waiting for them with a smile on her face.

"So, did you ask her?" She addresses Hannibal.

"Ah." Hannibal looks mildly embarrassed and turns to Abigail. "Forgive me, I seem to have entirely forgotten the very reason for my visit."

Abigail just looks from Hannibal to Dr. Bloom and then back to Hannibal.

"I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me to the opera on Friday."

"Really!" Abigail can't stop herself from smiling. "I mean, I'd love to...if it's ok." She looks imploringly at Dr. Bloom who smiles back.

"Of course it is. When Hannibal suggested it I though it was a good opportunity for you to get out. Lately you've seemed like you were going a little stir crazy and the theater is probably the last place the press would think to look for you."

"Thank you so much Dr. Lecter." Abigail has to fight the urge to hug him. "That's really generous."

"It's no trouble at all Abigail. Now, if you don't mind, there's something I need to discuss with Dr. Bloom." An understanding passes between them, Abigail nods and heads to her room.

That night Abigail is glad to take her tranquilizer. Beneath her surface excitement over the fact that at the end of the week her and Hanibal would be going somewhere together, in public like an actual couple, there was a dense layer of apprehension. After her inevitable, uncomfortable confrontation with Freddy Lounds, the whole world would know about the two of them and then...'come what may.'

Notes: Sorry for the long gap between updates, I've been house sitting for my mom and she doesn't have wifi.


	7. In which Alana will be ok eventually

When Abigail walks into her office the next morning, Dr. Bloom is uncharacteristically quiet. She doesn't greet Abigail and pretends to be straightening papers on her desk for several minutes before coming to sit in the chair across from her.

"So," she gives a very strained smile. "Dr. Lecter and I had a very...long, very illuminating conversation last night during which he...informed me that in the near future certain...facts pertaining to you and him are going to become common knowledge and that he thought you might appreciate my support in dealing with the potential aftermath."

"Are you mad?" Abigail blurts it out before she can stop herself.

"I'll admit that my initial reaction was," Dr. Bloom swallows and dips her head for just a moment, collecting herself. "Not positive, but once I got over the...surprise and calmed down a little and Dr. Lecter explained to me at great length how he never intended for this to happen and how he had gone out of his way to be considerate of your situation and the various vulnerabilities entailed there in, I've decided that I...can accept your...what's going on between you."

"Really?" Abigail is so relieved she almost smiles, but then decides that it wouldn't be appropriate.

"I've known Dr. Lecter for a very long time...I know that he's a good man and I know that he wouldn't take advantage of you." Dr. Bloom sighs and noticeably relaxes.

"Besides, after all you've been through you deserve to be happy. So, if you've really thought this through and being with Hannibal really does make you happy, then it would be hypocritical of me not to support it... you have thought this through, right?"

"Of course, Hannibal made sure I did." It feels oddly liberating to finally be able to say his first name out loud in front of someone else.

"Of course, and you're both consenting adults." She seemed to say that last part more for her own benefit than Abigail's.

There's a silence then during which Abigail tries to think how to phrase her question.

"So...you've known Hannibal a long time?"

"Yes," Dr. Bloom briefly does calculations in her head. "I think about five years all together."

"How much do you know about him?" Abigail tries not to sound accusatory, because really she isn't.

"At this point probably not as much as you."

"I don't know," Abigail looks down at her own hands. "He doesn't talk about his past much. I mean, he'll talk about places he's been and stuff but when it comes to

personal things he gets kinda' vague. I don't know anything about his family."

"Well, from what I understand, he doesn't really have one."

"I know his parents died when he was really young but that's about it and even that took a long time to get out of him."

"Well," Dr. Bloom smiles despite her obvious discomfort. "It's only a matter of time. He's a private person, he just needs to get used to the idea of you as a fixture in his life."

"I guess," Abigail looks a little unsettled. "Dr. Bloom?"

"Yes."

"Are you actually ok with this or are you just faking it for my sake?

"I...I think I eventually will be ok," she shifts in her chair. "I guess I just need some time too."

Abigail spends most of Friday agonizing over what she's going to wear. It feels inane and girlish but it's also a welcome distraction. Given the sorts of things that usually occupy Abigail's mind, it's oddly relaxing to focus on a simple, mundane problem like getting dressed for a date. It feels like a lifetime since she last went out on a date. It feels like her and the girl that Matthew Somerset felt up in the back seat of his dads car are two completely different people and tonight certainly promises to be different than that night.

She was able to get all of her clothing from the house. The problem had more to do with her simply having not had many reasons to own anything particularly dressy. Her family had not been especially religious, they had gone to church on Christmas and Easter and Abigail had some dresses for that but none of them seemed right. The Christmas one was red and green and the Easter one was pastel pink, she doesn't think Hannibal would like ether of them and she wasn't particularly fond of them ether...her mother had picked them out. She eventually settles on a simple black slip dress, the only reason that she had had reservations about it was that it had been bought specifically for her grandmothers funeral two years ago and she had not worn it since then. She puts on a little mascara and sprays some perfume on her neck. She leaves her hair down to hide her scar.

Dr. Bloom arranges for Hannibal to pick her up around back of the hospital in the staff parking lot, 'just in case' she says. The parking lot is dark and cold, the temperature has plummeted back down to a more seasonal level in the past week, and Hannibal's car is warm inside. She leans over and kisses him on the cheek. He tells her she looks beautiful and she just smiles and blushes. They make small talk on the way to the theater, it feels strange to be acting so casually around him after their previous conversation. He off handedly asks her if she's seen Mrs. Lounds since last they saw each other, she says no and her doesn't bring it up again.

The opera is The Magic Flute. Abigail doesn't speak German but it winds up not mattering because Hannibal explains the general plot to her before it starts and is more than willing to clarify things for her when she's confused by a particular scene. So as not to disturb the other patrons he leans in very close and whispers in her ear. She finds it surprisingly easy to get absorbed in the story despite not knowing exactly what the singers are saying. At the curtain call she stands and applauds with him. When they get to his house she's blissfully giddy, she thinks this is the first time she'd ever have used that word to describe herself. He takes her coat, settles her on the couch and goes to put a record on. When he returns he hands her a glass of wine and sits down next to her a little closer than he normally would, not that she minds. She one-ups him and moves a little closer, reaches between them, takes his hand and puts it on her leg. He leaves his hand on her leg as they talk and moves his thumb in a slow circle but otherwise acts as though he doesn't even notice that he's touching her.

"I take it you enjoyed the performance."

"Oh, god yes." A smile blooms across her face. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I never considered myself the kind of person who'd like opera, at least not this much."

"Ah," he looks considerably more bemused than offended. "Well in my experience the majority of people fall into two categories, those who love opera and those who have yet to realize that they love opera."

They chat about Mozart a while. It's not as though Abigail is disinterested, she's very much enjoying listening to Hannibal's voice and the passionate note it adopts when he talks about music, but her mind keeps drifting to...other things...and his hand is still on her leg. She finishes her wine and sets the empty glass on the table beside the couch. Without looking away from his face, she puts her hand on top of his and guides it to her inner thigh. She thinks she hears his voice hitch but it's only for a second, when he keeps talking his voice is slightly lower and a little hoarse. When she pulls her skirt up a little, inviting him to explore further, he goes silent and seems to hesitate but only for a fraction of a second.

She startles when he picks her up but then he kisses her and she relaxes into his chest, wraps her arms around his neck. He lays her on the bed and looms over her, kissing her hungrily. One of his hands tangles in her hair and the other slips between them and back under her dress. She shudders when he begins to stroke her through her underwear and moans into his mouth when he pushes them aside and strokes into her wetness. His thumb finds her clitoris and it feels almost too good.

As he continues to stimulate her, his mouth migrates down to her neck and she's moaning into the still air of the room. She's lost in the sensation until he begins sucking on her collar bone. Suddenly something flashes in her mind: she's alone in the dark, she can't move, she's being crushed by the weight of something...something covered in feathers and scales. Before she even realizes it she's thrashing beneath him, pushing on his shoulders. He seems not to notice until she actually cries out for him to stop but then he instantly pulls back. Suddenly he's looking into her face, all urgent concern.

"Abigail?"

She gropes in her mind for the image but just as quickly as it had materialized it's gone. Suddenly guilt hits her, things were going so well, she doesn't want to ruin it. Abigail sits up slowly, Hannibal backs up to accommodate her. She takes a deep breath.

"I'm fine," her smile quivers a little. "That was just...a little too fast."

"Please forgive me," his voice is a little tight but genuinely remorseful. He takes her hand and kisses the back of it then turns it over and kisses the underside of her wrist right on the sensitive pulse point. He seems stuck there. His body is tense and shaking slightly. Abigail snakes her arm around his neck and pulls him close, kisses him just under his right ear.

"It's ok, really, I just got a little...over stimulated." She pulls back slightly and slides her hand down to grasp the lapel of his jacket. "Could you take this off?" He smiles, then stands to undress.

Suddenly self conscious, Abigail crawls across the bed to stand on the opposite side and begins to undress with her back turned to him. She steps out of her dress but can't seem to go any further than that. It startles her to suddenly feel the warmth of Hannibal's chest at her back and his arms wrapping around her waist. He bends and kisses her scar and then murmurs against her neck.

"Tell me, sweet girl, how many men have you been with."

"You're not the first." She doesn't know why it comes out so quickly.

"As much of an honor as that would have been," she can feel him smile against her neck. "I was not naive nor presumptuous enough to assume that I was... I'm sorry if the question offended you."

"No, it's ok." She tilts her head to grant him better access and he kisses her neck as she struggles to talk. "I didn't really date much in high school or...before that. There was this one guy I went out with for a few months. He my dad's friend's son. We...did it for the first time in the back of his dads car during the fireworks on the fourth of July and a few times after that before we broke up."

"I see," Hannibal's tone is mildly amused. He unhooks her bra and slides it down her arms, drops it on the floor in front of her. "He was your first?"

"Yeah." It's hard for Abigail to think with Hannibal exploring her chest, circling her nipples with his fingers, testing the weight of her breasts in his hands.

"Were you his?"

"I don't... I don't know," her giggle is cut off by a shiver as he slips a hand between her legs, gently petting with the tips of his fingers. "I really hope so."

"And why is that?" The way he laughs under his breath implies that he already knows why.

"It was... really bad. Like, painful and...and over really fast."

"Did you ever bring this to his attention?"

"I...tried." Hannibal's hand slides under the waist band of her underwear and she really doesn't want to think about the topic of conversation any more, doesn't want to think about anything other than Hannibal. "He'd get mad and say that he didn't know what I expected him to do."

"Poor girl," he coos the words as though they're a term of endearment. "Unfortunately many young men are woefully un-creative when it comes to physical intimacy. It's a pity that when they're the most eager they're the least willing to...experiment."

He turns her around, pulls her against him and kisses her.

"Lie down on the bed for me my sweet girl." He whispers against her lips.

Abigail obeys without hesitation, removing her last bit of clothing as she goes. Behind her she hears a soft, wet noise that causes her to flush even more when she realizes that it's the sound of him licking her juices off of his fingers. He straddles her, making sure not to put all of his weight on her just yet. As he reaches to turn off the light, a cold little splinter of fear pierces Abigail's haze of arousal.

"Please leave that on." She grabs his wrist.

Hannibal just takes her hand and kisses the tips of her fingers. He kisses her once more on the lips and then begins to work his way down her body. Matthew Sumerset's attentions had always been ether on her chest or between her legs, sometimes on her mouth. Hannibal is far more thorough. He takes his time, licking and nibbling and sucking as if he wants to taste every inch of her flesh. When he comes to the place between her legs he does something with his tongue that makes her thoughts go blank and her nervous system crackle with electricity.

Scales and feathers are the farthest thing from her mind.

Hannibal drops her back off at the hospital early the next morning, apologizing profusely for having a morning session scheduled. Still feeling the effects of the previous nights activities, Abigail is far more relaxed and confident than she can remember having been in a long time. It's a lovely morning despite the fact that it's overcast and and a biting wind is tearing across the landscape. She goes to her room, changes out of her black dress and puts her hair in a pony tail. She decides against showering, she wants to keep Hannibal's scent on her skin just a little while longer.

Mrs. Lounds has called ahead and set up an appointment to see her that evening, she's not as anxious about that as she had expected to be. The majority of the day passes in relative quiet. She spends the rest of the morning in her room reading and listening to the wind howl outside. In the after noon she goes out and walks around the hospital grounds, she stays where the building blocks the wind. Eventually she comes across a dead pigeon in a corner where the wall surrounding the property meets the building. It's been gutted, most likely by crows, and it reminds her of something that she can't quite remember but that gives her a dull ache in her guts.

Shaking off the vague but unsettling feeling, she turns and heads back inside. There are a man and woman sitting in the common room, they stop whispering as she walks in and she takes the hint and continues walking through to the dining room. She sits at a table in the dark, empty room and watches the sun as it begins to set. Since it's still completely overcast the sun is only really visible when it reaches the horizon where it's rays form an vivid orange line along the ground. In this dramatic lighting the barren, winter landscape looks all together alien.

Abigail starts when she hears the door behind her open. She turns to see the brittle silhouette of Freddy Lounds in the doorway.

"Hi." She tries to keep her tone casual.

"Hey," Mrs. Lounds switches on the lights, shattering the peaceful atmosphere, and then crosses the room. "How've you been?"

"Ok."

"Ok?"

"Yeah."

"Good," Mrs. Lounds takes a seat next to Abigail at the empty table. "I'm really gald to hear that. I thought things might be a little tense between us after last time."

"No."

"Good."

"I did tell Hannibal what happened though."

"Oh," Mrs. Lounds smiles in an attempt to hide the fact that she's clearly taken aback. "Well, I suppose that's good. He is your boyfriend, wouldn't be good for the relationship if you kept things from him."

"I thought so to." Abigail tries to keep her tone as unreadable as possible.

"And what, pray tell, did 'Hannibal' have to say? I assume it wasn't favorable."

"He said you have a knack for minding other people's business."

"As a journalist, I guess I should take that as a compliment." Mrs. Lounds laughs.

"Yeah," Abigail's hands are clasped on the table in front of her, she's still looking out the window. "I guess I should get this out of the way right away."

"What's that honey?"

"I've given it a lot of thought...and I don't think I'm comfortable with this any more."

"If you'd like, we can try to meet outside the hospital from now on." Mrs. Lounds clearly knows what Abigail means but is grasping at straws in spite of it.

"It has nothing to do with where we meet."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I just...don't want to do the book any more."

Mrs. Lounds furrows her brow and cocks her head to one side, it's a decent imitation of confusion.

"It just means that I'll have to keep thinking about it and I've decided I'd rather work on trying to get over it."

"Right," Mrs. Lounds smiles with clenched teeth. "I'm sure this decision has nothing to do with that fact that you talked to Lecter about it."

"I'd be lying if I said it didn't."

"And you still think he's not manipulating you?"

"I know he isn't." Abigail glares directly into her eyes and she almost backs down.

"You realize that, if our business arrangement is dissolved, I can't promise you that any of the information to which I've been made a party will remain in confidence."

"Yeah," Abigail doesn't falter. "I know."

"And this doesn't mean that I'll be backing off of the story, since to do so would be a disservice to my readers."

"I expected as much."

"Aright then." Mrs. Lounds tries not to look bitter but fails, she clearly only had the one card to play. "Well, I certainly wish you two love birds all the best."

Mrs. Lounds rises and leaves the room, the deliberate clack of her heels echoing in the emptiness.


End file.
